


Promise Me, Okay?

by KiwiBerry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBerry/pseuds/KiwiBerry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy's back. Amelia's possessed.  Castiel is nowhere to be found.  And Claire is left alone.  Or is she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise Me, Okay?

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during episode twenty of season four, The Rapture. It talks about what might have happened to Claire Novak before she became Castiel's vessel, and why she said yes.

Claire was tired.  She was hungry too.  But most importantly, she was scared.  So scared she didn’t dare open her eyes after her mother  had slapped her, after she called her a name no mother should ever call her twelve year old daughter, and was thrown inside a strangers car, the tires screeching against the pavement as it disappeared into the dark of the night.  She kept her eyes shut, buried her head in the corner between the seat and the door, and told herself that it was all a bad dream; that she would wake up soon.  But somewhere deep inside she knew that she wouldn’t wake up, she knew that what was happening was very, _very_ real, and that no amount of childish wishing would change that. 

But it didn’t mean she couldn’t try. 

When the car stopped and the door opened, its metal hinges screaming in distress, Claire kept her eyes closed and eventually, everything did go dark and she didn’t have to try so hard to block everything out.  But even so, she still kept her eyes closed, if only for the comfort of knowing that she was in control; at least just a little bit. 

“Claire.”

Claire was alone, finding solace in the darkness, when she heard her name called.  Claire froze, her body stiffing and her palms digging into her face, telling herself to ignore them and they’ll go away, ignore them and they’ll go away, _ignore them and they’ll go away…_

“Claire, open your eyes.”

Claire continued the chant in her head, knees digging into her chest with each breath, and felt her vision go starry behind her hands.

“ _Claire_.”

It was then Claire opened her eyes, feeling a feather light touch on her shoulder, and she squinted against the blazing sun above her.

Claire looked around, lifting an arm to shade herself from the sun’s rays, and looked up into the face of her father. 

“Hello Claire.”

Claire stopped, pulling her arm down from her face and back to wrapping around her knees.  It wasn’t her father.  It looked like him, but it wasn’t him.  Something was different, “You’re not my dad.”

“No,” the stranger answered, shifting his hands in his tanned trench coat; the trench coat her father had been wearing when he vanished, when he’d left her and her mother alone for so long, “But I discerned that you would find me more engaging if I took on a familiar form.”

Claire only stared at the man, eyes wide and brimmed with tears. Her hands gripped the cloth of her jeans just a little bit tighter.   She let out a shaky breath and stared into the ground.

“No,” the man repeated, her father’s eyes turning from hers with something like impatience, “I am not your father.  But I do wish to see him unharmed.  Come with me.”

Claire hesitated, felt the heels of her feet dig into the soft dirt beneath her, before standing upright and following the strange man. 

The man had sat himself down on a bench, his knees together and elbows rested carefully on his thighs.  He stared into the distance, into the vast space before him, and didn’t move when Claire took the seat next to him. 

Claire followed the man’s gaze, and found a family on the grass in front of them.  The mother was setting a blanket across the ground, adorning it with plastic containers and pitchers full of ice.  The father was standing up, searching for something, before being attacked from behind and forced to the ground.  The daughter laughed as the man quickly turned around and pulled her in close, roaring about this and that, both of them smiling as if neither had a care in the world.  The family was hers.   Or at least what it used to be. 

“Why are you showing me this?” Claire asked, her hands clasped in her lap as she watched herself sit down beside her mother, opening one of the many containers on the blanket. 

“I’m not,” the man answered, continuing to watch Claire and her family, “You are.  This is your memory Claire.  I have no control over what you see.”

Claire sat silently, tearing her eyes from her family and staring into her lap thoughtfully, “Why am I here?”

“Because you’re special Claire,” the man answered, finally tearing his gaze away from her family and placing it on her, “Because you were chosen.”

Claire glanced at the man beside her, her father’s blue eyes burning into her, and looked back to her family instead, “Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel.  I am an angel of the Lord.”

Claire took this in, remembering her father’s ranting about how he had been chosen and that Castiel the angel had told him so and promised him that he was destined for many great things.  Her mother had called him delusional, had told him that he needed help.   But somewhere deep down inside, Claire knew he wasn’t; she had been taught to have faith.

“What’s going to happen to my dad?”

“I don’t know.”

Claire looked down into her lap again, tears accumulating in the corner of her eyes.  Her hands gripped each other tight, her nails digging into her skin, “And my mom?”

“I-“ the man paused, unsure how to answer, before clasping his own hands and letting them fall solemnly between his legs, “I don’t know.”

Claire saw the tears coming, felt her body collapsing in on her, heard the sound of everybody she’d ever loved disappear and leave her alone. 

“But I can help.”

Claire had heard the words, had soaked in the honey and gravel of the voice that was not her father’s, and questioned the man with her eyes, pleading him, _begging him_ , to do anything that could help her parents.   She loved them.

“But there are…terms to my aide,” the man added, shifting himself so he was sitting upright, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Claire answered, her voice a whisper in between her tears. 

“I need you,” the man started, standing himself up from the bench, “I need you to say yes.”

Claire thought for a moment, pondering this statement before speaking up, “You mean like my father did?”

Her father’s eyes closed slightly, and his brow furrowed, “Yes.”

“Then yes.”  Claire might have been young but she had a good pair of ears and a heart too big for her tiny body.   She also had a nasty habit of eavesdropping and knew that anybody her father trusted, she could trust as well.

Her father stared at her, his features falling slightly, asking her if she was sure.

She was.

“But you must promise me something,” Claire stated, pushing herself off the bench to stand before her father, “You must promise me that one day you find someone worth protecting too.”

When her father’s face contorted slightly, Claire cast a silent glance around him and toward the scene behind them.  The mother.  The father.  The daughter.  _The family._ She had seen the way he had looked at them, like an observer trying to understand; trying to deconstruct so as to create.  

The man looked back at her as if to ask what she meant but Claire took her father’s hand, cold yet warm to the touch, in hers and looked into those deep blue eyes that always watched her with such high esteem. 

“Yes.”

_“Why are you doing this, man?  If you stay here, you’re going to die.”_

_The windows continued to rattle, and the floor beneath them shook with Heaven’s rage.  Chuck watched the angel with condolence, placing a shaky hand upon his shoulder._

_“Because I made a promise.”_


End file.
